


Trapped (My Heart)

by AngeNoir



Series: Inktober 2017 [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Gen, Mages, Urban Fantasy, Warlocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 07:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: Draco is just an ordinary witch; he needs a warlock to enchant his house to keep it protected.Luckily, his friend knows someone that does that type of activity for payment.Inktober Drabble 4 = Universe: Harry Potter / List: Urban Fantasy / Prompt: The Warlock Kid





	Trapped (My Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for inktober, based on the prompt "The Warlock Kid" from an Urban Fantasy list. (You can see [and prompt me!] my initial post about my inktober writings [here](http://outercorner.tumblr.com/post/165938959460/so-i-am-gonna-be-trying-this-inktober-thing-but).)
> 
> Late again, but longer? if that helps.

“If you need something, he’s the guy that can make this happen for you. He’s like a prodigy, honestly.”

“I feel like you are only preparing me for further failure,” Draco murmured, tugging on his double-breasted pea coat, a lovely silver-grey color that only seemed to blend him into the dripping grey skies and the muted colors of this back alley.

He was here because he needed a specialty service that his own magics couldn’t cover - at least, not as thoroughly as he needed.

...Well, that wasn’t entirely true, either.

To begin, he had to go into what led him to travel to this dank area of the city in the first place, dressed as he was and so clearly out of place. He had to go over how his father had been part of a coven that had been intent on raising a death god, their head insistent upon the fact that immortality could be obtained by worshipping that deity. How they had nearly been successful in opening a portal to a dark dimension that would have allowed untold chaos and death into their world - and how Draco had worked with the Mage’s Council to stop the completion of the ritual.

He had to go over how he had, in essence, betrayed his father and people he’d seen as uncles, the fathers of his friends, and turned them over to the harsh justice of the Mage’s Council.

Most witches, like his father and himself, had a speciality - they had an element they identified with. If they weren’t elementally inclined, they were more your rote witch that worked with incantations and potions, that had a familiar and worked hard, using the ley lines and mystic energy of the life around them to bring forth what they wanted.

There were other kinds of witches, of course. But the Mage’s Council either discounted those other kinds - too weak to bestir themselves over - or hunted those other kinds down because of how deadly and dangerous those witches were.

But, sometimes, witches were born as a special class known as a warlock - a witch that specialized in utilizing the nature and world around them. They couldn’t influence the world, but rather used the world to influence themselves and their needs. They didn’t command an elemental or a familiar; they didn’t have the ability to control anything sentient the way normal witches did.

Non-sentient items, however...

Which was why Draco was here, looking for a young warlock rumored to be one of the most powerful warlocks in the world. Why the warlock would hide out here, in a rundown area that had questionable hygiene and unsavoury characters, Draco was unsure. He certainly was not happy that he had to come here to talk to the young man.

Blaise stopped and tilted his head to a dark corner, shadows tucked behind a rancid-smelling dumpster. “Warlock,” he called out.

There was a rustle, and Draco tried not to bite his lip - it showed his age, or more specifically, showed his vulnerability and his inexperience. His father had always berated him for those small habits that showed his weakness. Instead, he tried to square his shoulders and look appropriately intimidating and forbidding. He was a Malfoy, after all; descended from one of the most revered and longest line of witches in recorded history.

A thin, scrawny figure rose up out of the shadows, nearly the height of Draco, hair an almost literal rats’ nest on the top of his narrow face. His clothes were filthy, ragged, and hung off his thin frame, and his almost violent green eyes were sunken into his face.

“You’re back, Zabini,” the figure said, voice hoarse and rough. His skin was bruised and scarred, the slices showing particularly bright against his dark skin, especially in the places where they were clearly new. “You run into problems?”

“No, I’m fine. In fact, the quality of your work was so satisfying, when my friend was having trouble I recommended you to him.”

Those fierce, hawk-like eyes turned to peer into the very depths of Draco’s soul. Almost without his own volition, Draco felt drawn into the mysteriousness of this person.

“What trouble?” the figure asked, shambling forward and smiling.

His teeth looked too white, too sharp, against his dark skin. Draco suddenly looked at all of their surroundings with a lot more skepticism than he had previously.

Warlocks could change and alter non-sentient items. Perhaps this alleyway was not, in fact, an alleyway.

“What do you want?” the figure asked, and perhaps it was Draco’s overactive imagination, but it sounded as if the voice was suddenly more commanding, more powerful. “A dagger, perhaps, enchanted to seek out the vulnerable spots on a human body? A liquid that would be tasteless and odorless, and untraceable?”

Unconsciously, Draco’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Not - no, none of that. I just want - I want wards to protect my dwelling. I - well. I have quite a few people after me, and I just want my space to be... safe.”

Those green eyes held his gaze for an extended period of time, weighing and judging Draco for a long moment, before that wild look returned to his mouth, and the figure nodded decisively. “Very well. I’ll need access to your dwelling, and I’ll need some mugwort and unicorn clippings.”

Draco glanced sideways at Blaise and hesitated. “I... I may not be able to access unicorn clippings.”

“Unable to access unicorn clippings?” the figure murmured, stepping closer, and Draco’s suspicions were confirmed when the nearness did not bring that overwhelming sour scent of rotting garbage, but instead a clean, fresh scent. “Odd. Zabini here could get gryphon claws, but you can’t find me unicorn clippings? - Very well, a favor, then. You will owe me a favor.”

Again, Draco glanced sideways at Blaise and hesitated. It was never good to offer a blank acceptance to someone who’s word was binding - and expected your word to be binding as well. “I will owe you a favor that will not bring harm, either immediate or delayed, to myself or others,” Draco corrected.

The man let out a startled laugh and grinned, snapping his fingers. The illusion around him faded and disappeared to reveal a vest over a buttoned-up shirt, dress slacks neat and pressed, black even though his vest was a deep green and his button-up shirt was a light cream. “Yes, I think this will do. He is more interesting than you, Zabini. Does he have a name?”

“Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. And you?”

The figure chuckled hoarsely. “Potter, Harry Potter. Ah, you’ve heard of me, have you?”

Draco had jerked back a little, surprised, because of course he heard of Harry Potter; the warlock who was nearly single-handedly responsible for the capture of Draco’s father, and the friends of his father.

“Yes, of - of course. I - have.”

The short young man - he had to be around Draco’s age, maybe a year or two younger, so no younger than 18. - smirked.

“Now, you’ll get to see if any of those rumors you heard have truth to them,” Potter whispered.


End file.
